


Monster

by cyrenid



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: based off monster by dodie, like just sad idk prepare yourselves, not proofread because im not a coward, tubbo needs Therapy so bad oh my god, uhhhh angsty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrenid/pseuds/cyrenid
Summary: If this were another life, Tommy would be here with him; a hand on his back, a weary smile toward him, kind words guiding him back to bed. He would sit with Tubbo until sleep overtook him, gently pulling blankets over his small body, telling him to sleep well. He might have pushed away his cabinet members, the next day. Shouting about how the president needed sleep, asking if the cabinet was truly so incapable without their leader. He would bring Tubbo food and water, and they would talk, if he wanted to. Tommy always let him talk first. He knew Tubbo wasn’t one to open up willingly, instead letting out his fears and rage unintentionally toward other people. And Tommy knew how to clean up the damage when he did.But Tommy wasn’t here.And Tubbo wasn’t sleeping.or, Tubbo's sanity is slowly chipping away
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is in pseudo-chronological order because I kept the lyrics in the order they belong in! The events should be relatively easy to figure out though :} also give me kudos and comments they fuel me and my ego  
> also listen ignore the formatting that gets slightly wonky, i had to promise my first born to ao3 to post this work

_Tell me again, about how it hurts?_

Tubbo’s hands gripped the sides of his bathroom counter. He took in a shaky breath. Then another. And then a third. His shoulders were hunched over, his head bent all the way to his chest. 

If this were another life, Tommy would be here with him; a hand on his back, a weary smile toward him, kind words guiding him back to bed. He would sit with Tubbo until sleep overtook him, gently pulling blankets over his small body, telling him to sleep well. He might have pushed away his cabinet members, the next day. Shouting about how the president needed sleep, asking if the cabinet was truly so incapable without their leader. He would bring Tubbo food and water, and they would talk, if he wanted to. Tommy always let him talk first. He knew Tubbo wasn’t one to open up willingly, instead letting out his fears and rage unintentionally toward other people. And Tommy knew how to clean up the damage when he did.

But Tommy wasn’t here.

And Tubbo wasn’t sleeping. 

A quiet, familiar voice, Wilbur’s, spoke in the back of his mind. Reminding him that he was alright, he wasn’t dead, no one had hurt him. Speaking soothing affirmations that were so familiar to Tubbo, he could swear Wilbur was right beside him speaking. _“You are okay. You have been okay. You will be okay.”_

Tubbo raised his head to the mirror in front of him. He had practice, he did, with pulling himself down, “grounding himself” as Technoblade had called it. But the man Tubbo made eye contact with in the mirror was not the boy he thought he would see. Sure, he was still the same person physically. But Tubbo could see the differences. The same differences his cabinet members had already seen. The purple bags under his eyes, his hair sticking up in a thousand directions, his suit still on his body, the tie pulled to one side and the coat hanging off his right arm. The dark, dark look in his eyes that Tubbo had seen every day for what felt like years.

Schlatt.

He took a step back from the mirror, shocked. He leaned forward again, and the resemblance was gone. Tubbo was just a tired young boy. With tear tracks running down his face, and a look in his eyes that screamed. Tubbo wasn’t sure what exactly it screamed, and he didn’t know if he wanted to learn. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he backed up until he was against the cold tile wall of his bathroom. Well, the bathroom he had built in the White House, adjacent to the makeshift bedroom he had also built. Because Tubbo didn’t have a home. And he wasn’t sure where else he would go, if not to his own home. Not sure where else he _could_ go. 

Tubbo sat down with a huff, then dipped his head back to relieve the headrush he was suffering from. He wasn’t sure when he had last eaten, or even had a drink of water, but he didn’t think it had been recently. Usually Tommy would bring him food and water, knowing that Tubbo never put himself before his own country’s needs.

Tommy wasn’t here.

Where was he? Tubbo couldn’t think straight. His headrush had not ended, so he laid on the black tiled floor, praying the vast waves of blood rushing through his brain would subside. Maybe then Tubbo could think. His head lolled back and forth, Tubbo no longer able to control it. Some part of him yelled that he needed to shout for someone. But for whom? Would anyone come? 

Tubbo’s head dropped to the side, and his eyes abruptly closed.

When Ranboo would find him in the morning, he would quickly shout for Phil’s aid, and the two men would carry Tubbo to his bed. They would bring him food and water, pull warm blankets over him, and shoo away his persistent cabinet members. But Ranboo and Phil wouldn’t wait for Tubbo. They wouldn’t encourage his shaky recollections of the night before, rubbing his back while they listened. They wouldn’t dry his tears if he asked. They wouldn’t swear to never tell anyone else about how weak Tubbo was getting. Because Ranboo and Phil weren’t Tommy.

And Tommy wasn’t here.

\- _Get out of my room, smile wiped clean._

A soft knock sounded at Tubbo’s door. It was still early in the morning, and Tubbo was usually the first to rise in L’manberg. Tubbo sat up, quickly wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Who’s there?”

“Quackity,” came the reply. Tubbo raised his eyebrows in surprise. His Vice President rarely visited him outside of working hours, even then, keeping his conversations short and brisk. He supposed it wasn’t always like that with the older man, but something had changed. Tubbo hoped he would figure out what.

“Come on in,” he said. He didn’t bother pulling on the jacket hung beside him. Quackity had sat with him as he trembled in the camarvan, weary from his chaotic first day as president. Quackity didn’t need to see him in formal wear.

The door opened, and Quackity’s face appeared, concern etched into his eyebrows and forehead. He remained in the doorway as he spoke.

“Hey, Tubbo. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay?”

“What? Why? Of course, I’m-I’m fine.” Tubbo responded.

“Are you sure? I heard you screaming last night. You know, during the- the uh, the celebration…” The older man trailed off, a look of discomfort on his face. Quackity should have known the loud fireworks celebrating his birthday might have disturbed Tubbo, but he let the joy of a party convince him to forget that. That joy had quickly been replaced with regret when he heard the first of Tubbo’s screams come from the White House that night. The terrors had lasted for hours, and Quackity wasn’t really sure when they had stopped. All he currently knew was that Tubbo’s look changed from confusion to anger at his question.

“I’m completely fine, thank you for asking. Why are you really here?” Tubbo retorted. Quackity had heard the effects of his waking nightmares, yet no one had come to his aid. He supposed he could have asked someone for help, but would it have made a difference?

“What do you mean, why am I here? I wanted to make sure you were okay. We were all worried, Tubbo.”

“Just leave, Quackity.” The small boy curled in on himself, hugging one of his knees to his chest.

“What?” He stepped back, confused. “Why? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I said leave.”

“I’m not going to leave until you tell me what’s wrong with you, because it’s clearly not nothing.”

Quackity stepped forward into the room, preparing to sit by Tubbo and try to get through to him. Tubbo pushed himself away from Quackity, off his bed and to the other side of the room.

“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!”

The air stilled.

Quackity opened his mouth, then closed it. 

“I know why you’re here,” Tubbo continued on. “You’re here to pretend. You want to be on my ‘good side.’ You want the power I have. Well, you’re not fucking getting it, Quackity! I know you don’t care. Everyone knows that no one cares. Where were you last night, then? When I truly would have needed you? Why show up now, if not to feign innocence so I’ll trust you? So I’ll let my guard down and you’ll take what’s ‘yours?’ I’m not stupid, Quackity, I know-”

Quackity didn’t hear Tubbo finish. He stayed in the room while Tubbo screamed on and on about power grabs and trust, then he left the boy in his silence. Quackity slid his back down the wall beside the now-closed door, taking multiple shaky deep breaths, hoping to calm himself. Quackity knew the president was slipping, but he never thought he had descended into madness. Quackity would never try to undermine him like that, and he knew a small part of Tubbo still remembered that. 

The rest of Tubbo sat with his back against the far wall in his bedroom, silent, violent tears rolling down his face as he reminded himself to _trust no one._

\- _Isn’t it weird, to be so mean?_

“Dream, please escort Tommy out of L’manberg.” 

Tubbo saw his best friend’s shoulders drop in his peripherals, and he turned his head away from the men gathered behind him. Although Tommy was shouting at both Dream and Tubbo, all the latter could hear was the silent tension between him and his remaining cabinet members that pierced the air. As Tommy’s protests got farther and farther away, Tubbo rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and turned to his partners.

Immediate shouts arose from the two men, overlapping each other in protest of Tubbo’s decree. He knew he would receive this backlash from his friends, and he had already prepared his remarks of rebuttal against them. But, as Tubbo opened his mouth to speak, he heard a name shouted that froze him in his tracks, brushing his confident aura away as if it were nothing more than lint on the suit he wore.

Schlatt.

Whatever speech Tubbo had memorized left his mind as it turned blank. He quickly pushed past the men and made his way down the makeshift staircase that had been built minutes prior. His hands began to twitch and shake, so he shoved them into the pockets of his suit jacket. He set his course for the White House bedroom he had clumsily built, hopelessly tuning out the cabinet members that followed him, still protesting.

He slammed the door shut behind him, and Quackity and Fundy quietly walked away. His body trembled as he put his head between his knees. He couldn’t stop the sobs that escaped from his lungs. Tommy’s betrayed face stared at him in his mind.

\- _I’m guessing that I’ve grown horns, I guess I’m human no more, I can tell I’ve rotted in your brain_

Tubbo’s weary hands placed down the final wooden block atop the cage. He carefully lifted and placed an anvil on top of the block, then leaped down to the water Ranboo had poured for him below. As he mined the wood away so that only the top block remained, he watched Ranboo walk away and heard him sigh. 

Tubbo turned to his newfound friend, asking what was wrong.

Ranboo lifted his head from his hands and straightened his posture as Tubbo walked over. Ranboo sighed again. 

“Does nothing about this feel off to you, Tubbo?” He asked. When the silence had grown thick, he spoke again. “Executing a man, that is.”

“What?” Tubbo looked taken aback. “What should it matter? He tried to kill me and my whole cabinet. He tried to blow up L’manberg with withers! We aren’t just going to take this lying down!”

“L’manberg was already blown up when he spawned the withers though, right? And you did lie to and betray him, Tubbo. You went directly against his ideals.” Ranboo looked away immediately after finishing, missing the look of murder that Tubbo shot his way.

So what? Who cared about the technicalities? If L’manberg, if _Tubbo_ was to be respected, they needed to assert their power over criminals.

Ranboo’s shoulder raised to his ears at Tubbo’s response, and he pulled his knees up closer to his chest. The two ~~boys~~ men sat in tense silence for a while, until Ranboo spoke up again.

“I just-I-You don’t think it’s too much? I mean, does the rest of the country even know what you’re going to do tomorrow?”

More silence.

“Does Philza know you plan on killing his best friend?”

Tubbo whipped his head around to face Ranboo’s. The sun had set completely at this point, Ranboo’s face illuminated only by the lights of the homes before him and his glowing eye. 

“What would happen, if we told Philza? Don’t you think he would warn Technoblade? Don’t you think he wouldn’t try to foil our plans? We’ve worked so hard at this for weeks, and Philza would throw it all away. He can find out tomorrow in the town square.”

Ranboo muttered a quiet _‘we?’_ under his breath before responding. “You haven’t heard from Techno in weeks. Are you sure he’s even findable? Are you sure he hasn’t run away? Or retired?”

Tired, and fed up with Ranboo’s ethical questioning, Tubbo huffed and stood up. 

“It doesn’t matter, Ranboo. He killed me, he tried to kill countless others. He probably would have killed you, if you had been here. This talk of defending Techno sounds quite treasonous to me, Ranboo. Are you on my side or not?”

“Yeah I’m on your- I mean I- I’m with _you,_ Tubbo.”

Silence filled the air again as Ranboo stared at his hands. 

“But don’t you think a public execution sounds a little...a little familiar? Would you put a man through the same trauma as your own just to make yourself feel better?” 

“I’m not doing this to make myself feel better!” Tubbo snapped back. “I’m doing this for the good of the country. _Everything_ I do is for the good of L’manberg.” 

Ranboo stared up at him; Tubbo took a step back as he realized who he was starting to sound like. The very man whose idea of a public execution he had taken. 

“I wasn’t here for a lot of your battles, Tubbo, you’re right,” Ranboo started. “But I’m here now, and I’ve read your history books. I’ve mourned with you and I helped you rebuild this country.” Ranboo also stood, making as if to walk the opposite direction Tubbo was facing. “I don’t know who you used to be, before these wars began, but I don’t think it’s who you are now. I’ll go with you, in the morning, but hear me now: I’m doing this to support _you,_ not this country or this execution.” 

Ranboo left Tubbo in the dark silence. The younger man took a shaky breath in and made his way back to his White House bedroom. He could feel walls closing in on him, and he swore he was being followed the whole way back. He shut his door behind him, trying to turn on every light he had in the room. He had done this a million times before, trying to make as much space as possible. The ringing in his ears got louder as he stood in the center of his room, hands over his eyes as he tried to calm down. 

Hours later, Tubbo found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his vision tinted with yellow and red. 

\- _I craft my words to fit your head_

Tommy had whispered to him, asking him to meet at their old spot. The sun was setting over the horizon, and Tubbo stopped for a moment to admire the orange and purple colors that illuminated the builds before him. He turned to look at the city behind him, and his face fell as he realized everyone there was in danger. Because of him. 

He scrunched his nose and shook his head, hoping to clear the anxieties from his mind. He turned back, and saw Tommy already sitting on the bench as he approached. The boys exchanged nice words for a moment, Tubbo taking off his formal jacket after an offhand remark by Tommy. The boys stuttered around each other, until Tommy took charge of the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, Tubbo, I am. I know you had to exile me, I know you had to. I just…” 

“I’m sorry as well. It was a bit extreme.” Tubbo wasn’t sure if he truly meant that. Would L’manberg already be a crater in the ground by now, if he hadn’t sent Tommy away? He wasn’t sure what had happened to Tommy, but he looked physically healthy. 

Tommy had walked away, into his house that was not far from their bench. Tubbo heard him throwing items out of a chest, and he soon returned with a music disc. Soft melodies played as their conversation continued. 

“I don’t want what happened between us to dictate our futures, Tubbo. I want us to be able to move on.” 

“And me as well.” Tubbo’s thoughts trailed to the healing wounds on his torso, where Tommy had beaten him the previous day. 

“It was me, I chose to side with Technoblade. And now… now he’s threatening to blow up our nation. The nation _we_ built together. And I’m just… I’m just sorry, Tubbo.” 

Tommy stumbled over his words again and again, trying to find more ways to say he was sorry. Tubbo was getting sick of the apologies. A voice in his mind told him there was no way Tommy was truly sorry. He had said that last time, right? And before that, on trial as well. Did Tommy ever truly mean it? 

“Thank you Tommy,” was what Tubbo ended up saying. Tommy’s shoulders relaxed as he smiled at Tubbo, the same mischievous smile he gave Tubbo before his exile. It made Tubbo shrink into himself, slightly, until he reminded himself of what was to come in the morning. The two boys agreed they would talk more about what happened, and Tubbo walked away from Tommy, the word _‘traitor’_ racing through his mind over and over again. 

\- _I’ve said my speech through sharpened teeth_

Quackity stared down at Tubbo, the word ‘execution’ hanging heavy in the air. Execution. Quackity had told Tubbo to execute Ranboo, a so-called traitor. Tubbo had known Ranboo for longer than Quackity, if only by a few days. He felt had known Ranboo in another life, as well. A life not plagued by war and politics. A simple one, with days spent building windmills and clocks. Ranboo would never betray this country. 

Quackity’s eyes grew dark as Tubbo said this, and he drew closer to the young man. 

“Are you serious? I’ve got his book right here, it’s filled with pages of evidence of him speaking to Techno and Tommy. You can’t just let him off the hook, Tubbo. We need to make an example of him.” He paused, and took Tubbo’s silence as an answer. “Dream was right. You really are a coward. And biased. You can’t take a second to realize that Ranboo is the reason for all of this?” 

“I will tell you right now. We are not executing Ranboo.” 

“ _You_ might not be executing Ranboo, but-” Tubbo cut him off with a yell. 

“ _L’manberg_ is not executing Ranboo, and that is final.” Tubbo paused, trying to catch the breath he had lost. The cheery festival decorations laughed at him in his peripheral vision. “We literally had him decorate for this festival, Quackity! Are we going to execute him at the festival he planned? Doesn’t that sound a little familiar, doesn’t it?” Tubbo got close to Quackity, not caring that he was shouting in his face. “I’m sure that sounds a little familiar! Hell, why don’t we trap him in a concrete box, and shoot his face off with a rocket launcher? Because no loyal man has ever betrayed their country for the good of their friends before, right, Quackity?!” 

Tubbo kept shouting, his words turning to mush as his mind left the conversation before him. Soon enough, his shouts were replaced with violent sobs, as he continued trying to convince his Vice President that they were not going to execute his friend. Quackity led him away from the arguing citizens of L’manberg, deciding to continue to speak in a private corner of the server. After finding the energy to take a few shaky breaths in, Tubbo felt something warm and soft placed in his hands, and he used it to dry the tears from his face. 

Tubbo looked up at Quackity, who had a look of concern on his face. Tubbo had seen that look directed at him a few too many times, he decided. He hoped he would learn how to convince his friends he was doing alright. 

“Okay,” Quackity began, “we aren’t executing Ranboo. We won’t touch him. But Dream? Dream is still out there. If you think it's treasonous to go after Ranboo, sure, but I’m not stopping until I have my hands on Dream. He’s the root of all of this, hell, he’s the reason you’re breaking down right now.” 

Quackity placed a wary hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, and with him guiding Tubbo, the two boys sat on the ground below them. Tubbo let his head hang forward, and Quackity eventually spoke again. 

“I’m going after Dream. If I can’t be Vice President while I do it, then fine. I’m leaving L’manberg. I truly hope you can save it, Tubbo.” 

He rose to leave, and Tubbo raised his head to address him. 

“Quackity?” 

“Hm?” 

“Stay away from Ranboo.” 

Quackity turned and went, leaving Tubbo sitting on the damp ground of an undeveloped piece of the SMP. It was only a few minutes later that Tubbo realized the cloth he had been given to wipe his tears was Quackity’s hat. Tubbo placed it on a fence post, before leaving to find his people. He had a war to fight. 

\- _A meter apart, we blankly stare. We shout in our heads, are you still in there?_

Tubbo stood on the roof of an old building, staring numbly at the ground below him. He had just returned from what remained of Logstedshire, what remained of Tommy’s home. He had found massive craters in the ground, and a pillar built to the sky. Tubbo had shakingly questioned why, receiving an answer from no one, before racing back through the nether portal he had just arrived in. He had sprinted across the shaky bridge that had been constructed over pits of lava, tears evaporating on his face as he teleported home. 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent in Ranboo’s house, sitting numbly on his bed while Ranboo stood in the corner, unsure of how to comfort him. At some point he heard Ranboo whispering to another server member, but he couldn’t pull himself down enough to tune in. Ranboo had quietly left at one point, leaving Tubbo to his mourning. 

Tubbo had lost his compass, the one thing that tied him to Tommy. Maybe, just _maybe_ if he hadn’t lost it, he would have known sooner what happened. Maybe he would have been able to visit Tommy more, to stop what happened in the first place. 

But Tubbo knew he was lying to himself. That no matter what would have happened, Tommy was dead. And it was Tubbo’s fault. Why hadn’t he visited him more? Why hadn’t he done more to bring Tommy back? He had failed him. 

He spent the night in Ranboo’s home, feeling too sick to return to the White House. He didn’t need to be reminded of the role he held that had driven Tommy to death. 

Ranboo left his house early next morning, and Tubbo sat at the window of his house, watching the citizens of L’manberg go about their days. He supposed he would need to tell all of them eventually, he would need to hold a funeral for Tommy. That would be the selfless thing to do. Or would it be selfish? To burden his people with the knowledge that one of their leaders was dead? 

Ranboo’s soft voice made Tubbo jump out of his skin. “Hey, we have a situation over at the borders of the city. There are some people asking for you.” 

So Tubbo followed Ranboo, ready to run through a conversation he had probably had a thousand times before about sovereign borders, or about trade laws. He heard the men before he saw them, loud voices shouting back and forth at each other. He rounded the corner and- 

Tommy. 

Tommy was there, alive and well, albeit looking frailer than he had when he left L’manberg. Tubbo went to greet him, to run at him and hold him and apologize for everything he had done, until he saw the man Tommy was with. Technoblade. And they had Connor bound in chains. 

Tubbo stood in quiet shock, a ways away from the men. Surely Tommy knew that Techno and L’manberg were enemies? Hell, Tommy had been the one to declare him such a thing. Even after hours of Tubbo convincing Tommy he would never blame Technoblade for the festival, Tommy had never forgiven him. Were they-were they siding with each other now? 

Tubbo walked quietly over to the men, and the conversation ceased. 

“Tubbo?” came Tommy’s voice. 

Tubbo didn’t know where to begin. Whether to apologize or to berate him for being with Technoblade or to hug him or- 

“I thought you were dead,” was what he settled on. 

Tommy brushed right past the comment, and he and Techno got down to business. They had taken Connor hostage in exchange for Technoblade’s weapons back. After a few negotiations, Tubbo sent Ranboo away to retrieve Techno’s axe and rocket launcher. As he handed the weapons over, Tubbo’s breath caught in his throat as he handed Technoblade the very weapon he had used to kill him months prior. Tubbo had sworn to Tommy he was over it, yes, because Tubbo couldn’t _not_ be over it. He had a country to run. Later, years from now maybe, he would find time to come to terms with what had happened to him. Maybe. 

As Tubbo and Ranboo turned to leave, Tubbo’s ears picked up on a single word. Execution. And his heart dropped. 

Tommy shouted across the way to him, “You tried executing Technoblade? What the hell, Tubbo?! You- you’re a monster!” 

Tubbo took a step back, Ranboo moving to cover him slightly. 

Tommy went on, stuttering in disbelief. “Well you, you really are just like Jschlatt, then? Executing a man for his beliefs? Who are you, Tubbo?” 

He wasn’t listening. He was running. Let them have Technoblade’s weapons, let them take whatever hostages they wanted. He couldn’t care less at that moment. He raced into the bathroom of the White House and collapsed onto the floor. Tommy’s look of betrayal was one he had only seen once before, and it was toward Technoblade after he killed Tubbo. 

His shaking arms pulled himself up to stare at his reflection in the mirror. 

Monster. 

\- _You plug your ears, but hey, you might just listen to it sing. Please, let the devil in_

“Thank you, Tubbo, for giving me this disc.” Dream began. Tubbo closed his eyes, not being able to bear the look of betrayal on Tommy’s face. Not seconds prior, Tommy had turned his back on Technoblade, telling Tubbo to give up his disc, stating he no longer cared about them. Tubbo should have known it was only a facade, that the boy still cared deeply about the music discs. 

“I just want to say, Tubbo,” the masked man went on, “that you’re an idiot.” The crowd surrounding them silenced. “You’re an idiot, and you have no power. You’re the worst president because-because you’re not even president!” He laughed. “You’re not even president! Quackity is more of a president than you!” 

The aforementioned man looked away from Tubbo. 

“ _I am_ more of a president of L’manberg than you are, Tubbo. You get pushed around by everyone because you’re a coward! Because you’re an idiot! You just gave me the _one_ thing that I needed before I could destroy L’manberg!” 

Tubbo listened as gasps rippled through the crowd, not taking his eyes off of Dream. He wasn’t sure he was truly listening to the man’s words anymore, or if he was just letting himself be yelled at yet again. Dream went on. 

“I don’t care about L’manberg. I don’t care about anything, and I’ve said this before! The only reason I have not destroyed that place yet is because I had to be friends with you to get this dumb disc back. And I’ve got it back! And that’s all that truly matters!” 

The two men stared, a horrifying look in Dream’s eyes, one Tubbo had never seen before. 

“I don’t care about you, Tubbo. I don’t care about you, I’m not your friend. You can’t even run your government right! Ranboo is a traitor, one of your most trusted friends--that’s true!” 

Shouts of protest arose from all corners as Dream threw a book at Tubbo’s feet, titled “Do Not Read.” He looked up at Ranboo, whose face was devoid of expression. His eyes betrayed him however, showcasing the fear that was coursing through his veins. Tubbo heard Quackity mutter that he knew this would happen. 

“Ranboo was meeting with Techno, and with Tommy, and he was telling them everything that was going on in L’manberg.” Techno shouted in protest, stating he didn’t even know who Ranboo was. Dream ignored him. “You can’t even run your own nation, Tubbo. L’manberg is weaker than it’s ever been.” 

Tubbo began quietly nodding his head in agreement. 

“You,” Dream still had more to say, “You have ruined _everything,_ Tubbo. You’ve ruined your friendships, you’ve ruined L’manberg’s allyships. You’ve ruined it all, because you’re a terrible president, because you’re an idiot!” 

“You’re right,” was all Tubbo said, as Dream turned to Technoblade and planned the city’s demise. No one responded to him. Had anyone heard him? Tubbo _was_ the worst president, and he had known for a while. Tubbo didn’t remember ascending the broken walls of the community house, but he suddenly found himself staring out across a sea of people, waiting for his command. 

Tubbo ran from them. 

\- _Am I ready to let this die?_

Tommy stood at Tubbo’s right shoulder, urging him on. He pulled the music disc from his inventory, the very thing that had driven him and Tommy apart. 

“Give it to him,” Tommy said. 

Tubbo did. And Dream laughed. 


End file.
